


Ode to the Sun

by SpaceVikingLoki



Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Leprechauns, M/M, Madmoon, Porn With Plot, Roadtrip, Slow Build, mythology that's probably not too accurate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 11:11:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11919681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceVikingLoki/pseuds/SpaceVikingLoki
Summary: Shadow intervened on reflex, putting himself between the towering Leprechaun and Wednesday. Sweeney snarled and shoved Shadow roughly by the shoulders. Shadow shoved him back.Sweeney smirked, eyes wide and mad as his namesake. “You protecting him?” Sweeney laughed, loud and harsh. “You even know what you’re protecting? What kind of creature you’re keeping safe by your side?” He was close now, inches from Shadow’s face. His breath smelled like old cigarettes and the long absence of a toothbrush. Shadow held his gaze. “Would you like to know a fun little secret?” he whispered.





	1. In which Shadow learns a hard truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told myself I was gonna write a fic for this amazing show damnit, and so, here's the result... so far. I haven't finished the book yet, so this is more a deviation from the show's end of season 1. Warnings for major character death but not sure if that applies so much if said character is already dead? Well, more dead than before... anyhow hope you enjoy.

 

 

 

Mad Sweeney took a long, slow drag from his cigarette as he watched Laura Moon’s dead body. It was the third time he’d seen it this way, sprawled on the ground, limbs arching out at obscene angles. Only this time her bare chest was sporting a fist-sized hole, deep and ragged, as if the contents had been ripped out in a hurry. There was no blood of course; they’d already drained it out during the embalming process, and so the only “mess” left was a roughage of skin, muscle and bone, gaping like a hellish mouth from the centre of her body. Her eyes were fogged over like milk tea, unseeing.

A raven cawed from the tree above, a deep croak of a sound, before flying off into the night.

The dusk air was cool but not cold, filled with the shrill chirping of horny crickets and the stench of car exhaust. Sweeney barely noticed.

He let the fag burn right down to his fingertips before tossing it to the ground and stomping it out. Turning on his heels, Sweeney climbed onto the black cruiser parked on the side of the road, a recent acquisition from an unknowing Christ. The engine roared in his ears as he revved it back down the I-75 highway, speeding a good ways over the speed limit, making his way back towards the residence of Ostara. If he had any ounce of luck left in his old bones, Wednesday would still be there. He’d better be. Sweeney had a few words for the old man.

 

 

***~~**~~***

 

 

Shadow clenched and unclenched his hands around the steering wheel, feeling the muscles ache in his fingers. It hadn’t sat right with him. None of it had. There was too much going on at once, too many impossible variables that clawed for his attention, asking him to believe, believe!

Well, Shadow did believe. He believed he was way over his fucking head.

There was still a stubborn, rational part of Shadow’s brain insisting that gods weren’t real - that they didn’t go around summoning thunderstorms on a sunny day, skewering cops on their massive tree limbs, or talking to people through televisions. That sprites and fairies and leprechauns weren’t prancing about, drinking beer at local pubs and picking fights with any human that happened to piss them off.

But that voice was much quieter now.

Now that he’d witnessed the apocalypse of Spring itself, an entire landscape of trees and plants and flowers sucked drier than an ashpit.

And then, there was Laura.

Standing on the balcony, her body looking as cold and washed out as their new surroundings. Laura. Had he been happy to see her? Angry? Upset? Even wondering now, Shadow couldn’t figure out how he felt about it. Not nothing. But not what he felt he should.

She had wanted to speak to him, that much was clear. But she never did get the chance, what with the next moments blurring into a sea of faceless bodies, screaming party guests, and smoke that smelt like an electrical fire.

The onslaught of Mr. World’s henchman had taken the majority of Shadow’s attention, though he had caught an astonishing glimpse of Laura fighting, a vicious display he had no idea she was capable of. He thought he heard her call out to him once, but when he turned back to look she was gone.

Ostara had insisted they leave then, drive away and that she would see them in Wisconsin, ready for a real war.

And so, the storm that broke out next between old gods and new prevented any real conversation with his dead wife from taking place.

Shadow almost laughed. Even his mind was caving to the situation, to the new reality he found himself dragged into more deeply every day. He was just falling into another bout of borderline self-pity when a distant engine tore through his thoughts.

They’d been driving along a side dirt road for the last three hours with no other cars in sight, so the sound was enough to snag his attention. He glanced at the rearview mirror, squinting at the black bike closing distance behind him. A shock of familiar, ginger hair crept slowly into view.

Wednesday must have heard as well, as he mumbled over his shoulder. “Awe shit, speed up.”

“Why?” asked Shadow.

Wednesday gave him a look. “After every encounter you’ve had with him thus far, you really need an answer to that?”

Shadow didn’t answer. He pushed the pedal down harder.

Sweeney wasn’t going to let up that easy though. The bike lost distance momentarily, but quickly made up for it. Before long he was sidling up beside the Cadillac, speeding until he lined up with Shadows window. He looked murderous. Pull over, he mouthed.

“Don’t do it,” said Wednesday.

Shadow ground his teeth. “Why is he following us?”

“How should I know?”

“Because you seem to be pretty aware of the reasons people have for being mad at you.”

Wednesday shrugged. “Comes with the territory.”

Shadow gradually slowed the car and pulled over. A cloud of dust swarmed over the car and slowly settled around them as he pulled the ignition.

Sweeney had already dismantled his bike by the time they got out of the car, standing with his fists clenched and his nostrils flaring. Wednesday greeted him with his usual placating expression, palms open in peace.

“Mad Sweeney, m’boy, what on earth has possessed you to join us in such feverish fashion? Wisconsin isn’t for a ways yet.”

“You know damn well, old man,” spat Sweeney. “You know damn fuckin’ well why I’m here. It was your goons who did it. You did it once, you didn’t need to do it a second time!”

Shadow scrunched his eyebrows. “Do what?” He looked to Wednesday. “What did you do?”

Wednesday remained blank.

“That’s a mighty fine question, innit?” Sweeny smiled, more manic than happy, his eyes dark and bloodshot. “Care to enlighten us? Share with the group? ‘Cause I’m feelin to be in a mighty sharing mood, myself.”

Wednesday sighed, pursing his lips. “Now, Sweeney. There’s no sense getting riled up here. We had an agreement, unless you forgot? You’ll only be digging yourself a deeper hole with this.”

Sweeney barked a laugh. “Oh I ain’t forgotten. How could I? It’s all I cater to these days, hovering over me like a big black cloud. The agreement this, an’ that. Well I’m fuckin’ through with our agreement. I’m fuckin’ through with this, and you, and the wretched, shite ways you sort your business! Y’hear me? I’m done with it!” He was shouting now, lips bared back in a snarl as he closed the space between himself and Wednesday, getting right up in his face.

Shadow intervened on reflex, putting himself between the towering Leprechaun and Wednesday. Sweeney snarled and shoved Shadow roughly by the shoulders. Shadow shoved him back.

Sweeney smirked, eyes wide and mad as his namesake. “You protecting him?” Sweeney laughed, loud and harsh. “You even know what you’re protecting? What kind of creature you’re keeping safe by your side?” He was close now, inches from Shadow’s face. His breath smelled like old cigarettes and the long absence of a toothbrush. Shadow held his gaze. “Would you like to know a fun little secret?” he whispered.

“Sweeney,” Wednesday warned.

Sweeney didn’t so much as glance away, his green eyes locked steadfast with Shadow’s dark ones. “Let me tell you something about your charming travel companion, hm? Shed a little light. God knows you’ve been swaddled in the dark long enough. He likes you there though. Gets his rocks off to your dumb, clueless face as he fondles his fingers up your arse like a fuckin puppet. Toying you along through all his selfish plans. Don’t take it personally though, he does it to the best of us,” Sweeney rambled on, almost as much to himself as to Shadow. He huffed, then laughed loud into Shadow’s face.

“The fuck you talking about,” snarled Shadow, his nerves rising. The afternoon heat was bearing down on his skin, making his forehead sweat. “You come here to say something then say it.”

Sweeney chewed his lip, gaze shifting between each of Shadow’s eyes. Shadow heard Wednesday sighing behind him again.

“I killed her,” whispered Sweeney. “Me. I did it.”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed very slowly.

“I killed your wife, dead as a rake. Cut her and your piss for a best friend off on the freeway, so they swerved to their deaths. I even watched as the life snuffed out of your wife’s wide, scared eyes.” He was breathing slow and heavy now, closer still. “And you wanna know who told me to do it?”

Shadow stood completely still, his breath even. Sweeney stepped back. Then broke eye contact to look at the god behind Shadow. Shadow turned very slowly.

Wednesday opened his mouth like he was about to speak, but for once, no words seem to form. He inhaled through his nose instead, looking between the two of them. “Look,” he started. “Things are getting a little jumbled here. Don’t you think we should -”

“Is it true?” Shadow cut him off. The wheels were churning in his head, a white noise ringing from somewhere far away. He turned on Wednesday now, shoulders back and bulk pulled to his full height. “Did you have something to do with Laura’s death?”

Wednesday appraised him calmly, then rocked his head side to side. “You’re my boy, Shadow. We’ve been on the road this far together. If you’d rather take the word of a piss-smelling barfly over mine, then we're going to need to reassess a few terms of our relationship.”

Shadow pushed the older man against the car, snatching his collar in his fists, and leering down into his face. “I said,” grit Shadow between clenched teeth, “did you. Have something. To do. With Laura’s. Death?” each word was punctuated by another shove. His hands were shaking.

Wednesday looked on, a bored expression on his face. “You could say I have something to do with every death,” he offered with a shrug. “War is a powerful motivator. Sacrifices are par for the course, grapes for the wine. Don’t you think? It’s not worth getting caught up in the minute details, when the larger mechanisms are at work. This is about colossal, cosmic shifts, Shadow. A decisive turning point of an era, do you really think one human is worth-”

Shadow never heard the rest of his speech, as his fist connected squarely with the man’s jaw. Wednesday’s head snapped to the side, his eyes blinking as he gaped for a long moment, then slowly worked his jaw back and forth. “That wasn’t nice,” he purred, placing a hand to his cheek. “I’m your boss.”

“Yeah, well,” Shadow mused, “that was before you pissed me off. And you just pissed me off.”

Shadow pulled his fist back again, but this time a guttural shriek, followed by a flash of black wings and sharp talons stopped him, making him reel back. Wednesday took the distraction as an opportunity to spring open the car door and fling himself into the driver’s seat.

“Let’s meet up again soon, Shadow,” came Wednesday’s gruff voice. Shadow was stumbling back, waving his arms as the raven clawed viciously at his head. “Once you’ve calmed down a bit. Sorted your priorities. I’ll come find you. And Sweeney,” he called out, tapping a finger to his temple, “I’ll be seeing you around.” And with that, Betty’s wheels crunched down on the dry road, and sent Wednesday zooming off down the highway, kicking up clouds of sticky dust in his wake.

The raven flew after, and Shadow was left standing in the middle of the road.

He watched the car drive off down the highway, growing smaller and smaller into the distance, until it was nothing but a black, insignificant speck.

“Motherfucker. Mother fucking fucker.”

Shadow blinked. He’d all but forgotten the Leprechaun standing just behind him. The ginger haired man was entirely still, betrayed only by the shaking of his clenched hands as he watched after the same speck.

“Laura,” asked Shadow simply.

“Dead,” answered Sweeney. “Finitely, this time. Found her body along the highway.” He took a deep shuddering breath then and, without warning, lunged at Shadow, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. Shadow tensed, preparing for a punch as he was pulled roughly forward. Instead, Sweeney just glared down at him, waiting.

“It was just the end of what I’d started,” said Sweeney finally. “I killed your wife, Shadow Moon.”

Shadow stared at the other man for a long moment, taking in every angry wrinkle on his brow, every fiery red bristle sloping down his jaw. His cheeks were flushed almost as red, jaw muscles working soundlessly under the skin. Shadow stared at him, and then at the wide, empty road stretching on either side of him. The trees, only yesterday flush with rich, spring greens had been stripped of life, left to a barren sea of grey. Their branches were gnarled and bare, like bones. Like his dreams.

Slowly, Shadow closed his hand over Sweeney’s and gently peeled each finger away.

He began to walk.

“Hey,” called Sweeney. “Hey! Where the hell you think you’re goin’?”

“Away,” said Shadow.

“You’re 16 miles from the nearest town.”

Shadow ignored him.

He walked in the direction he’d just come from, the direction he’d been driving Wednesday from only a few minutes prior. When Wednesday was his boss. When he didn’t know.

He walked mechanically, blankly. One foot in front of the other, his mind surprisingly clear. It was easy for some reason. Like lifting weights in the prison courtyard, you found a rhythm that kept you focused enough not to think about the peripheral noise. Keep it out, keep it quiet. He didn’t want to think about Laura. What the so-called “accident” really was. What Wednesday had done, swept right under his nose. Shadow kept walking.

It couldn’t have been fifteen minutes later that the sound of a motorbike roared up behind him.

“You’ll be walking all night,” came the Leprechaun’s voice, bike engine growling low at Shadow’s side.

Shadow ignored him.

“I’ll give you a ride.”

He kept walking.

“For fuck’s sake.” Sweeney swerved the bike in front of Shadow, so he was forced to stop. “Look,” he growled, “I know mad. And as someone who’s done a shite load of stubborn, idiotic things when he’s mad, let me tell you something. You’re gonna end up in worse wear than when you started, and the only one suffering for it s’gonna be you. What’s 16 miles of walking going to show that arsehole of a god, aye?”

Shadow took a deep breath. “You really wanna be talking to me right now?” His fists clenched at his sides.

Sweeney didn’t budge. “Listen,” he sighed, shoulders sinking and face looking much older all of a sudden. Though how old that really was, was still a mystery to Shadow. “You may not realize it, but Wednesday’s been covering your arse for some time now. Ever since he brought you under his wing, you’ve gotten a nice, red bullseye painted on your back, and there’s a lot of not so nice folk lookin’ to dart you through the thick side, you followin’ me? Walking down a long dark backroad through the night is probably the stupidest thing you could be doing right now.”

“I don’t need your protection,” stated Shadow, walking pointedly around the bike. “But thanks.”

Shadow heard a noise somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

“Fuckin’ pissant bastard, piece of shit-” came Sweeney’s mumblings, followed by a few words Shadow couldn’t understand. He heard another sigh.

“Shadow! Damnit, just - fuck!” There was something strained in the other man’s voice that made Shadow finally stop, though he didn’t turn around. “Let me drive you to the next town, or - or wherever the hell you want, and I promise you’ll never hear heads or tails from me again. Ever.”

That made Shadow turn.

“Just get on the fuckin’ bike,” he sighed, all the fight from when he’d first showed up drained out of him. His brow and cheeks were still sporting specks of dried blood and wounds from the glass shattered during their bar fight. The bar fight that seemed far less random now, the way Sweeney had picked up on Laura’s obituary, taunting him with it. The way Wednesday had leaned back, smiling as they’d exchanged blow for blow. Everything which had surrounded those three damned, honey-wine shots now swirled in Shadow’s head, settling somewhere hard and deep like a stone.

Shadow pulled his gaze from the dried blood, and back to the man as a whole.

Sweeney looked tired, like a man who hadn’t seen a proper sleep in a fortnight, and it made Shadow realize just how tired he was too, now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He took one last glance at the endless, stretching road before him, then back at the haggard man on his sputtering, black bike.

Shadow trudged back, relenting to the situation. The thought of spending another moment with the surly Leprechaun made his skin crawl, but there was little else he could do. Sweeney nodded with an approving huff, and waited as Shadow climbed onto the seat behind him. Shadow tested his hands on Sweeney’s shoulders for a moment before deferring to the safety of his waist. With the way Shadow had seen him driving before, there was no sense skimping on a safe grip. He got a sturdy handful of thick waist and jean jacket.

“Hold tight, princess,” said Sweeney, before lurching them both down the highway, wind whipping fiercely in Shadow’s ears.

 

 

***~~**~~***

 

 

Sweeney’s eyes felt drier than a crone’s cunt, the cold wind lashing into his face as he swerved through a sea of red bumper lights along the highway. Shadow’s grip had been crushing into his sides for the past three hours, and Sweeney was fairly sure he’d be sporting more than a few bruises there by morning. At least the steady pain kept him alert, heightened to a central focus of forward momentum as they trudged onwards through the night. One could almost call it peaceful against the chaos of yesterday. Hell, against every day since Wednesday had sauntered up to him with the honey-slick promise - a war is brewing. Compared to that, this was downright serene.

Which is why, when Shadow suddenly jerked forward, yelling into his ear to “take this exit,” Sweeney nearly swerved them into a truck.

“For fuck’s sake! Give a man a warning will you!” He spat, slowly unclenching his shoulders. Shadow’s only apology was another squeeze to Sweeney’s already tender waist. “This one, hurry. It’s coming up.”

Sweeney cursed under his breath, wondering how in Morrigan’s name he wound up in such a stupid state. He glanced at the exit sign Shadow was motioning to.

“The hell you wanna go east for? The closest town is the direction we’re headed.”

“I don’t want to go to the closest town,” yelled Shadow over the wind. “And you said anywhere, so shut up and take this exit.”

Sweeney muttered a few more choice words for the monkey on his back, but did eventually turn into the right lane and off the exit, taking them onto a slightly quieter road. After a few minutes he called over his shoulder.

“So where the hell you wanna go then?”

Shadow was quiet for a moment, and then said “Ellicot City, Maryland.”

Sweeney blinked, squinting into the dark, then nearly clocked Shadow in the nose from turning his head so fast. “That’s over 500 miles away! I’m not taking you that far!”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Sweeney sputtered, reeling at the lunacy of it, “Because I’m not your fucking taxi service, that’s why not. I’m not gonna haul this bike across a state and a half just ‘cause you damned well feel like it. Give me one good reason why I should drive your prissy arse all the way to Maryland.”

“Well,” said Shadow, “you did kill my wife.”

Sweeney coughed as though an insect had just lodged into his windpipe, gulping night air until he found his breath even again. The motorbike soared alone now down the asphalt, a moan of noise in an otherwise quiet landscape.

“Oh fuck you, Moon.”

They drove for the rest of the evening in silence.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? Using the death of a female love interest to motivate the main character to follow a crazy new plot? How truly original! (oh god, I'm as awful as Wednesday. I'm sorry.... OTL) anyhow I hope you enjoyed my first attempt at writing in ages, I will attempt another chapter of this weird little fic, with a bit more madmoon to come... slow build I guess.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments are my fuel =u=


	2. In which Sweeney tells a story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Phew* Here it is, chapter two! I can't help but imagining these two on their own spin-off, road trip in the show. It would be amazing, and crazy, but I'm sure it would go nothing like this.

 

 

 

The motel was a smear of old, green paint and barely clinging shingles, its appearance almost ghostly if it weren’t so sad. A neon light welcomed travellers to _Regent Deluxe Motel_ with _convenient coin laundry_ , though the establishment likely housed more guests of the six-legged variety than two. Shadow had been the one to insist they stop, when the bike had began to sway ever so slightly, and Sweeney had flat out refused to let Shadow drive. They’d been going for a good half a day and a worse half a night, and though Sweeney was loathe to admit it, it was pretty clear to both of them that they wouldn’t be reaching Maryland if they were both splattered in a ditch.

This was, by silent agreement, the best alternative.

Sweeney parked the bike and let Shadow dismount before doing the same. Shadow heard him mumble something about a waste of time, but he ignored him, too tired to even acknowledge the leprechaun.

When they reached the front desk - two towering, red-eyed, and haggard looking thugs materializing from the night - Shadow could barely blame the woman’s response. Her hands clenched tightly around her magazine as she eyed them warily.

“Any rooms left?” asked Shadow. His throat felt like gravel.

She nodded, then peered between the two of them. “Together or separate?

Shadow glanced at Sweeney just as he glanced at him.

“Separate,” they said in unison.

 

 

***~~**~~***

 

After getting their room keys, Shadow and Sweeney trudged in silence to their respective rooms, thankfully a few doors down from one another. God knows the Leprechaun probably snored loud enough to be heard through the walls. He left the larger man’s company without so much as a goodbye, and slipped quietly into his room.

Shadow tossed his wallet aside, shrugged off his sweaty clothes and slunk into the shower. He stood there, staring into nothingness until the heat made his lungs feel heavy and his head dizzy. Then he switched the nozzle to cold, feeling the shock and slow, prickly acceptance of his skin. After that he towelled off, slipped back into his pants, and went down to the lobby to grab a pack of stale Doritos from the vending machine.

He downed the bag in three bites.

Back in his room, Shadow fell onto the bed mattress with a loud groan from both participants, and willed himself to sleep.

A few minutes later, Laura’s face materialized from the gloom.

“Hi Puppy.”

Shadow rolled over. He squashed the thin pillow over his head, breathing in. It smelled like cheap cleaning detergent.

“Don’t be a dick, Puppy.”

Shadow pushed himself deeper into mattress, pulling his legs to his chest. If he didn’t see her. If he didn’t _look_ at her -

That’s how these things worked, right? He was catching on, albeit slowly.

So he settled like this, not believing in Laura’ face, her voice, her skin pressing into his back. The way her fingers trailed along his bare side, brushing her thumb over the jut of his hipbone. He listened to her breathe, soft and even against his neck, even though it wasn’t real. Even though it was just his body remembering.

Eventually he must have convinced himself, as her fingers finally rested, a final sigh melding into the hush of the room. Shadow turned. The clock on his bedside table announced that it was now 4:27 am.

He was just contemplating giving up and going for a walk when he heard what could almost- _almost_ \- be called singing. The melody was slurred and gruff, with long pauses between every line or two. Something about mussels and fishmongers. And a wheelbarrow.

Shadow tried to drown out the crooning with his pillow but the voice only grew louder, until it was right outside his door. He wasn’t even surprised by the booming knock.

Shadow groaned.

“The fuck do you want,” he growled, sounding more exhausted than threatening when he opened the door. “I’m sleeping.”

Sweeney leered down at him from the doorway. His massive height all but eclipsed the balcony light, silhouetting his face in a halo of fiery hair. He tilted a half empty two six to his lips, the amber liquid leaking down his chin and into his beard. Shadow watched as he wiped his lips on his shoulder. His eyes looked red. “Like hell you are,” he sneered.

“I was _attempting_ ,” amended Shadow. He gave the bottle an off glance. “Where’d you even get that? Are you even planning on sleeping?”

Sweeney sniffed, catching himself from a slight sway.

“Liquor store down the road,” he shrugged. “And no.”

Shadow held the other man’s gaze for two even breaths, and then shut the door in his face. Or, tried to at least. He got the stub of a boot instead.

“ _Hey!_ Shit-head. Hold up. ‘M trying to say something!”

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say,” said Shadow damply, holding the door tight on the other’s foot.

With a fair bit of struggle on both ends, Sweeney managed to wedge himself between the door, his scowling face squeezing into the room like some kind of horror movie sequence. Except instead of being scary or threatening, it was just very, _very_ annoying.

Shadow relinquished the door with a sigh, realizing there was no point fighting. Shutting up a babbling drunk was like trying to block an open fire hydrant with your hands. Better just to let it splurge out.

Sweeney stumbled slightly into the room, yanking his shirt collar in some semblance of righting his dishevelled appearance, though the action just made him look more dishevelled.

Shadow waited, arms crossed over his chest.

“Right,” began the other slowly. “Right, well.” He took another swig from the bottle cradled in his fist, swallowed, then opened his mouth to speak. Then he closed it, and opened it again.

“Your wife’s a cunt,” he decided on.

Shadow raised an eyebrow.

“ _Was._ Was a cunt.” Sweeney amended with creased brows, as if that statement took a great deal of concentration.

“Ok,” said Shadow. “Thanks.” He felt an exhaustion headache coming on. He glanced at the clock again. 4:35. “Well, if that’s everything-” He began to usher Sweeney to the door.

“ _Wait,_ that’s not - I meant-” Sweeney inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and looking very much like this interaction was as agonizing for him as it was for Shadow.

Shadow very much doubted it.

For a moment Sweeney looked like he was about to give up and leave. Instead, he sidestepped Shadow completely and found a cozy seat for himself at the end of Shadow’s bed, one leg crossed up onto the furled sheet and the other stretched lazily to the side. His boot left a smear of grime on the white fabric. 

Shadow watched the man mumble into another chug of Daniel’s.

“Did you seriously come to my room, in the middle of the night, just to insult my wife?” asked Shadow, keeping his voice low.

“ _Dead,_ ” corrected Sweeney with an index finger. “Dead wife. An’ no.” He chewed the inside of his cheek, looking everywhere in the room but Shadow.

Another silence stretched long and taut between them. It made Shadow want to throw something at the man. Or just shove him onto the floor and attempt to forget about him till morning.

It was tempting. But probably impossible.

Shadow sighed, and after few more awkward moments, gave in to sit beside Sweeney on the end of the bed. They stared together at the slats of lamp light drifting through the blinds, illuminating swirls of dust. Sweeney offered the bottle and Shadow took it. He tilted his head back, letting the cheap burn slide down his throat.

It felt good, Shadow thought. He took another sip.

“I knew a man,” began Sweeney slowly. “Many years back, in the old country.” He paused, wringing a hand over his knee, then set it back on the bed fabric. The words sounded strange and distant from his mouth.

Shadow didn’t make to interrupt, so Sweeney continued.

“Went by the name of Liam O’Dawley. Slimy bastard he was, with his shined up boots and the strut of a puffed up cock. Knew how to wrangle every last penny from his workers, and possessed an uncanny knack for tellin’ when the ironmongers were even a pound shy on supplies for the ‘yards. He ran them you know. Supervised many a ship built and dispersed from Belfast ports. Not from any real know-how mind you, but his craftiness made him a decent businessman. Couldn’t manage a team of shipwrights for his life, but he knew which asses to kiss and which to kick and sometimes that’s all it takes.”

Shadow offered the bottle back and Sweeney took it greedily, swallowing down another long swig. Shadow watched the bob of his throat as it worked the liquid down and down and down.

“He had a special way with money,” gulped Sweeney, handing the bottle back. He then raised his hand, producing a single gold coin from the air and gazing at it with half-lidded eyes. “Where anytime he was paid, or carried any of it on his person, he always kept it safely tucked away - in his left pocket.” He glanced sidelong at Shadow, demonstrating with the coin as he tucked it within the fold of his own pocket. “You want to know why?”

“Not really,” said Shadow.

“He kept his money on the _left_ side,” continued Sweeney anyway, “because when he walked down those dirty cobblestone streets, the beggars always sat to the _right._ Slumped against the stinkin’ walls and gutters of old buildings.” Sweeney huffed a little, his eyes glazing over as if he could picture their crumpled forms in the motel room with them. “So when he walked by and they asked him for change - ”

Sweeney shrugged, tugging the inside of his right pocket out so the plaid fabric offered nothing but lint and dust.

Shadow studied the pocket.

Against his best efforts to be dragged in, he found himself picturing Liam O’Dawley, with his shiny boots and his overly sympathetic face. Shadow found he looked a lot like Wednesday.

“Well, there was one crisp morning-  with the first shift whistle blown and the gulls wailin’ round the docks. Mr O’Dawley was minding the 'yards in his usual way- with as little mind and as much bravado as possible.”

Shadow snorted. Sounded familiar.

"Now at this time there were a great deal of "modern" developments underway - ships were built larger than ever before, timber was replaced with steel and iron. The gantry cranes arched dozens of stories into the sky." Sweeney arched his hands high over his head, spreading and interlacing his fingers like metal grids. As he told the story, Shadow could swear the man’s accent had gotten thicker, his voice taking on an almost melodic tone, much like the way Wednesday had woven his endless anecdotes - a little silk and honey, a little flourish for effect.

Shadow felt a sudden surge of irritation.

"Is there a point to this story?"

"There is if you _shut the fuck up_ ," Sweeney huffed, snatching the bottle back for another slug. Shadow rolled his eyes but Sweeney carried on anyway.

"On this fine misty morning, Mr O’Dawley would be disappointed to find that he was, in fact, required for certain duties. It seemed some sod had properly mucked a brace on the ship's hull, to the point where even O’Dawley could see something was off. He followed his man up the scaffolding, one level at a time, careful to each wrung. And when he reached the very tippy tallest rail, from a ground's view he was but a wee little figure in the distance."

Sweeney stroked his thumb up and down the bottle's neck, peeling the label with his fingers.

"Now, it's not entirely clear what happened next. From below, it looked as though a cable, either improperly harnessed or under too much weight, had suddenly snapped loose, which is what the few who claim to have seen it said. Indeed that’s what they told the inspectors. Regardless of the means, however, the bottom pulley block swung out like a clock pendulum, right into O’Dawley’s unsuspecting back. At that speed It should have sent him clean off the landing. Instead, the man stumbled only once, and then stopped mid-motion, as if suspended by invisible strings. One foot on the grating and one off - his arms raised like a flightless fuckin bird in perfect holy balance."

Sweeney demonstrated, sloshing a bit of whiskey on shadow in the process. He kept his arms raised like that, staring off into some far off place that only he could remember.

Shadow watched him for a long moment.

It was strange, he thought. Hearing such a poetic and animated story told by someone who had so far put every effort into proving how few shits he gave about anyone or anything. The way he wove his memories into life, and how the walls of the motel seemed to melt around him as he spoke - without his usual bluster and posturing, without the bristling anger and arrogance, Sweeney seemed almost… ethereal.

 _Like a fairytale,_ Shadow thought before he could stop himself.

He coughed, snapping out of his thoughts.

"And?"

Sweeney snapped back too, jerking his arms down to his sides. "And what?"

"Well What happened to him?"

Sweeney sniffed, casting off the memory as his shoulders hunched again. "He fell off, the fuck d'you think happened?"

Shadow visibly deflated, despite himself. "So he fell to his death. Shitty end for a shitty dude. That's a great fucking story," he scoffed.

"The point isn't that he _fell_ ," sneered Sweeney, as if Shadow was a toddler who needed things explained very slowly. "it's that the damn fool fell to his _left_."

For a long time Shadow just looked at Sweeney, and Sweeney glared back at him. Then Shadow took the bottle from him and tipped it back.

It came up empty.

"Y'see," started Sweeney, his voice low and mock-sweet. "When we don't make it our business to even things out, things have a funny way of evening out themselves."

The way he said "things" made shadows skin prickle in a way he didn't want to focus on. He watched as Sweeney took a cigarette out of his left pocket and tucked it between his lips. "And O’Dawley, well -" Sweeney cupped a lighter to the smoke's end, so his face glowed a deep sunset-red. "He evened out pretty nicely."

Shadow stared at the glowing embers as Sweeney inhaled, long and slow.

Then, so suddenly it made Sweeney start, Shadow laughed. There was little humour to it.

"What's with you people and your damn obsession with stories," marvelled Shadow.

Sweeney gave him a deeply offended look. "What's with you and your obsession with _breathing_."

Shadow returned a skeptical look. "And you don't breath?"

"Of course I fuckin' do, it’s just a - it's the same fucking thing. For us, the stories they..." he muttered something unintelligible into his cigarette, taking a long drag and exhaling with unnecessary ferocity. "Forget it. Fuck off," he added lamely.

They sat in silence again, neither one making to move or say anything.

Shadow was about to suggest they try to actually sleep when Sweeney intervened, his words emitting another flume of smoke.

“Grimnir will come after you, you know. The two of you made a bargain.”

Shadow inhaled a deep breath of smoke.

“Our bargain was to be upheld until he pissed me off. He did just that, and now I’m done with him,” said Shadow simply.

“You may be done with him,” replied Sweeney smoothly, “but he certainly ain't done with you. Gods know that man doesn’t forget his dues.”

Shadow gazed at the window. Trickles of blue light crept now through the blinds, casting a damp glow into the room.

“Fuck that,” muttered Shadow, and then louder “Fuck. _That._ That piece of shit has taken more from my life than a hundred of those piss bargains could ever cover for. He has methodically and strategically managed to fuck up my life, my relationships, and any hope I once had for a fucking future. Not to mention his rival club of magical freaks, who probably want to kill me as much as him by now,” Shadow scoffed, squeezing the bottle in his hand far too tightly. “He wants to settle some debts he can fucking toss himself off a cliff. Then we'll call it even.”

Sweeney barked out a laugh, a rough and gravelly sound. He then continued to laugh so hard and loud that shadow remembered that it was nearly 5am and he was sitting in a shitty motel with a god dammed leprechaun and when the hell did his life get this messed up anyhow.

"Y'know," chuckled Sweeney, taking another drag of his smoke. "That's the most emotion I've seen on your face since I met you." He smirked sidelong at Shadow. “You’re almost getting the hang of this god stuff.”

Shadow felt a sharp, gnarly twist in his chest. Like something was loosening that he very much didn’t want loosened. He was tired and sick of these ridiculous situations, of being dissected by lunatics, of being dragged through the dark on a never ending, alice-in-wonderland freak show, with rules and debts and bargains that made no sense at all. He was sick of being confused.

"Why are you here," whispered Shadow. "Why the fuck did you pick me up off the road."

Sweeney sat in thought, letting a breath of smoke curl around them and settle. "It's like I said when I came in," he said softly. He leaned over and delicately dropped his cigarette into the bottle shadow was still holding, holding his gaze all the while. "Your wife," he enunciated each word, lips curling back, "was a _cunt_ ".

Shadow kept very still, his eyes on Sweeney. "Because of your coin."

Sweeney's eyes narrowed dangerously. "No. Though that's certainly accounted."

The other man stood very slowly and turned so his full height towered over Shadow, still perched on the end of the bed. Even the biggest heavyweights of the prison yard would think twice about standing up to someone of Sweeney’s stature.The man may not be a god, but he was well into goliath territory.

“Then what,” asked Shadow acidly. “What did she even do to you.”

“Oh, _a handful of things_ ,” Sweeney mused, inching closer into Shadow’s personal space. “While you were out galavanting with our fine friend Grimnir, me and your wifey had our own little road trip, you know that? Crossed more than a few state lines, we did. Had a little heart-to-heart here, a little puff and moan there.” Sweeney bent over so his hands rested on the bed either side of Shadow, caging him in, bringing their faces far too close. Shadow didn’t move.

“Awfully lonely, that lass of yours. Barely clinging to life, chasin’ after a man who didn’t want her no more. Kept goin’ on about this one amazing, heart-beating kiss,” he whispered, crowding into Shadows air, breath heavy with tobacco and whiskey. “It’s enough to make any woman make some very interesting choices.”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed. The reaction made Sweeney’s mouth twist into a sharp grin.

“What with you gone, and your so-called best friend not so lucky to raise from the grave as she did... well, it seems even the dead have their needs. What do you think we got up to?”

“I think you’re full of shit,” countered Shadow. He let the bottle slide to the floor. It made a hollow thud on the carpet.

Sweeney’s grin only deepened, a row of gleaming teeth in the gloom. “See, that was your problem Shadow. That’s why you couldn’t hold her interest. You never saw what she was capable of, what she was lacking when it came to _you._ ” he leant in closer so his face was sidelong with Shadows, his breath warm on Shadow’s ear. “And unlike you, I know _very_ well what she’s capable of. _Fuck,_ you should’ve seen -”

The shove sent Sweeney toppling backwards, his head meeting the edge of the desk with a loud and awful crack. He looked dazed for just a moment, crumpled half on the floor, one arm crooked over the desk for support, before lunging back again, his fist connecting hard with Shadow’s jaw. The motion pitched Shadow back into the mattress, throwing him off balance as he tried to scramble upright, though not before another blow landed in his stomach, ripping the air from his lungs and sending little white spots dancing in his vision. Sweeney's laughed as Shadow kicked out aimlessly, and continued to laugh even when the second kick landed hard into his shin. Sweeney stumbled onto the bed, wrestling with Shadow in a snarl of limbs and sheets and more limbs.

“Don’t be so upset,” Sweeney gasped, his breath heavy even as he continued to smile. “If you feel like you missed out, I can always give you a dem-”

A headbutt meant for Sweeney’s forehead connected with his mouth instead, splitting his lip on teeth so a spatter of blood spilled out from his mouth. Shadow felt the warm drops on his cheek, and Sweeney laughed even harder.

“ _That’s it_ ,” Sweeney grit through a red-smeared snarl. “That’s it there. _Come on!_ ”

Shadow was beyond hearing the other man. His pulse drummed loud in his ear, muscles tensed and adrenaline stinging every inch of his body, sharpened into one concentrated goal - the fight or flight instinct now bursting into life, overtaking any semblance of reason or meaning. All the anger and spite and frustration and fucking wrongness of the last few weeks, all of Wednesday’s lies and schemes, all the fucked up shit Shadow still couldn’t say was real or not or if he was just fucking crazy. It all seemed to pour out of him at once, every swing of his fist connecting with flesh, every crash of limb with limb. And he didn’t just want it, Shadow realized. He fucking needed it. He needed to hurt and crush and maul until there was nothing but bone and blood and _Laura._  

Oh _god._

In a final surge of momentum, Shadow managed to roll himself and the leprechaun off the side of the bed, sending them both crashing to the floor below. He restrained Sweeney’s legs under his own, pinning down the other’s wrists firmly over his head.

Sweat was beading on both their foreheads, as the two of them breathed deeply in unison.

Sweeney was no longer smiling. Instead he stared at Shadow with full, intentful focus, daring him on. One more. One _more._

“That’s enough,” gulped Shadow. His breathing began to steady as his head slowly, achingly cleared. Sweeney clenched and unclenched his fingers, though he didn’t make to push Shadow off. Shadow could feel his pulse hammering under the skin, and watched as a trickle of blood fell from his lip, gliding across his cheek and down the gulley of his neck.

After a long moment, Shadow released his grip on Sweeney’s wrists and made to stand. “I’m done.”

A deep and feral sound came from Sweeney’s throat.

 _“I’m not,_ ” he growled. Before Shadow realized what was happening, the other man had grabbed his arm and kicked out his feet, so Shadow was once again slammed down into him.

Shadow balked. “ _What_ -”

“Don’t you _dare_ fucking close up on me now!” snarled Sweeney. “There’s a whole fucking _ocean_ of this just writhing under the surface and you _know it_ ,” he crushed Shadow’s arm so hard he could practically feel it bruising. “You keep trying to cast this off like it’s nothing and I swear to fucking Bran you are going to find it ripping out of you, sooner or later. _I fucking swear it_.”

Shadow shoved away from him. “I don’t _care_ ,” he growled through gritted teeth.

Sweeney’s fist swung out suddenly, catching Shadow in the side of the head. The pain bloomed out in a wave through his skull, then settled into a low, heavy throb. Shadow slowly turned his head to look back at Sweeney. His hand twitched at his side, itching to give in. To sink blow after blow after blow into Sweeney’s skull, watching his already weeping wounds turn to red rivers upon the grimy motel floor. Shadow pulled his arm back, fingers clenching into a fist over his head and ready to strike - when he remembered.

Sweeney’s face, just like this. Smattered with blood and bruises, lips gashed and swollen, watery eyes imploring him on. Begging for more. _More._

“No.” Shadow shook his head, lowering his hand. He watched Sweeney’s shoulders, tense with anticipation, as they shrunk back to the floor. “Not this time.”

Sweeney glowered at him. Even pressed with his back to the floor, it was an intimidating look. “ _Why_ ,” he asked bitterly.

“Because,” replied Shadow quietly. He leant down so he was balanced on his hands and knees, his hands propped on either side of Sweeney’s head. He leaned in further still, so Sweeney could feel the breath of his words as well as hear them. “I’m not going to help you - _even things out._ ”

Sweeney looked up at him with dark eyes, and _seethed._

“Whatever you think you owe me, whatever slate you’re trying to wipe clean, I’m not going to let you do it.” Shadow inhaled slowly, catching a lungful of cooling sweat and blood. “Because that would be easy. And after everything you’ve done, I don’t feel like you deserve _easy.”_

Sweeney said nothing, his focus entirely still.

With that, Shadow untangled himself from the leprechaun and got to his feet. He walked to the door, wincing slightly from the protest in his left rib, and opened it. He waited.

After a long and quiet moment, Sweeney also rose very slowly from the floor. Neither of them spoke as Sweeney lumbered over, bearing all the grace of a man who’d just had his ass slammed into the floor and his face used as a punching bag.

He cast one last glare at Shadow before trudging out the door and down the balcony.

Shadow shut the door softly behind him, and glanced at the clock.

5:42.

So much for sleeping.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *So, I believe Sweeney's voyage to America likely happened in the early 1800's, though the kind of shipbuilding he talks about here is more towards mid to later 1800's. It's kind of vague in the show whether he left Ireland right away when Essie emigrated or he followed her there later, but I decided what the hecky. Creative liberties.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed! I love comments <3


	3. In which Shadow doesn’t believe in luck and Sweeney doesn’t talk so much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy this week's dose of surly Leprechaun and So-Done-With-Your-Shit™ Shadow.

 

 

 

 

By some less-than-divine miracle, Shadow did sleep. After collapsing on the tousled bed, he managed a meager three hours before housekeeping reminded him that check-out was, in fact, 11 am sharp. After a groggy apology, Shadow quickly dressed, splashed his face with warm water and slunk out while the maid was busy in another room. His mouth tasted like something furry had curled up and died in it, and he sorely needed a shave. He imagined his bag of toiletries still sitting in the trunk of Wednesday’s car. At least he’d had the sense to carry his wallet.

Shadow ambled down the balcony stairs, squinting in the nearly noon-day sun. When he reached the parking lot, he found Sweeney waiting for him.

His grizzled figure stood out like a sore thumb in the motel lot, hunched against his bike with a smoke propped between his lips and a hazy, far-off expression.

After last night, Shadow had half expected the Leprechaun to just ride off without him, to hell with the offer and to hell with him. But instead, he had took it upon himself to wait, however long that had been, for Shadow to get up and join him.

When Sweeney noticed Shadow, he gave him a quick once over but didn’t say anything. Shadow noticed the man’s face. His bottom lip was raw and swollen, while his cheek flushed an ugly, blue bruise.

If Shadow felt even the slightest tinge of guilt, he sure as hell wasn’t going to say so.

Sweeney took a final drag from his cigarette before tossing and crunching it under his boot, mounting the bike and, as before, motioned for Shadow to join him.

Shadow paused.

He was beginning to notice a trend in the bad luck that plagued his life. And seeing that he didn’t believe in luck, he realized that it was, in fact, a trend of many stupid decisions. From robbing casinos and banks, to taking on bodyguarding gigs for mystical weirdos. Accepting a ride from a man whose first name was proceeded by “mad” and who failed to see the necessity of helmets _should_ have set off a symphony of warning bells in Shadow’s head. Instead, it barely surprised him anymore. In truth, this would be just one more notch in a long and growing list of idiotic choices that made his life so understandably fucked up.

So what the hell was one more.

Shadow climbed on behind him.

They rode off the motel lot and down the highway, joining a steady stream of traffic as the sun warmed their backs. Shadow watched the rugged terrain drift by, the trees and plant life fuller here than the barren scorch-land back in Kentucky. Shadow sighed, settling into the steady momentum and low rumble of the bike as they curved around hills, along ridges and past the occasional pasture. Beyond that was just long and endless stretches of trees, a green blanket of undulating forest tops.

For the first time in a long while, Shadow thought of nothing. He let himself get lost in blue skies, dotted by the rare wispy cloud, the ebb and flow of vehicles around them, and the rhythm of white lines as they flew by on the pavement below. He scanned the houses and buildings of sleepy towns they passed, seeing people at work, people at play, people engaging with other people. He watched them drift by, one by one, and then disappear as the landscape melded back into thick trees and forests.

Sweeney had managed to not engage with Shadow once during this time, and Shadow was grateful for the silence. His back was a solid bulk of denim against the wind, his red hair wild enough to be tousled by the breeze.

After two hours, Sweeney took a turn off the highway, sliding them into a highway gas station.

While Sweeney filled up the engine, Shadow saddled off the bike and headed into the convenience store. He browsed the aisles, feeling the clerk’s eyes on him as he rounded up a bag of sunflower seeds, a muffin and a paper cup of coffee. He dumped those on the counter before rounding back for some toiletries- shaving cream, razor, deodorant, toothpaste and a toothbrush. Shadow considered grabbing a second one for Sweeney, but after imagining the Leprechaun’s face at the offer, he decided otherwise. He deposited everything at the till just as Sweeney entered. He ignored Shadow completely and went to make his own rounds.

Shadow paid, responding to the cashier's chatter with monosyllabic answers and silent nods. He was more focused on the paper bills stuffed into his wallet. It was a decent amount, for now. Wednesday had paid handsomely for their last gig at the bank, but it wouldn’t last forever. Shadow would have to think of other means of living eventually. Somewhere that would be happy to take an ex-con for hire. Like a gas station maybe.

Shadow focused on the cashier for the first time, noting his generically tucked shirt, the name tag with a generic name, his hair matted to one side. He was talking about the weather.

“I hear ya,” Shadow mumbled into a sip of coffee, taking his bag of new, and only belongings as Sweeney pushed by to dump his own things on the counter. One of which was, to Shadow’s surprise, a toothbrush.

“Pump four and a pack of Lucky Strike,” grunted Sweeney, digging into his pocket.

Shadow couldn’t help but snort, and Sweeney shot him a quick glare before shoving a few crumpled bills into the boy’s hand. "Keep the change."

They made their way out together, and Shadow watched Sweeney lead the bike to the side as he found himself a cool spot in the shade, crouching on the curb with his breakfast. The muffin was stale and the coffee watery, but Shadow’s stomach was too famished to complain. He scarfed the doughy thing as Sweeney joined him in the shade, leaning against the wall as he produced a bag of chips, an apple and two granola bars from inside his coat.

Shadow hadn’t seen those items at the checkout, but he wasn’t about to mention it.

It certainly said something about a guy who would rob a gas station just to tip the cashier.

They ate quietly together, watching cars pull in and out of the station. When Sweeney was finished, he pulled out the pack of smokes and started ripping open the plastic.

“You have a fucking deathwish?” asked Shadow. “We’re in a gas station.”

Sweeney just sneered at him before tromping off, as if ten yards would make all the difference. Wednesday was right. The man really was a fucking idiot.

After finishing their breakfast, or perhaps lunch, they took back to the highway. The sun was well behind them now, clouds casting shadows overhead as they rode onwards through more pastures. After some time the pastures receded into valleys of grass and wildflowers, and then the valleys into woodlands again.

Shadow felt a drop of water on his cheek. Sweeney muttered something, but the wind whipped his words away.

“What?”

Sweeney just revved the engine so they hurled faster down the road. It occurred to Shadow that Sweeney had not said a single word to him all day.

He was probably still pissed about last night, thought Shadow. It made sense.

Still, it was bewildering to witness the man’s strange moods, and Shadow couldn’t help but think he’d just traded in one nut job for another. Where Wednesday had been infuriatingly calm and enigmatic, Sweeney just swung from one extreme to another, from ranting passionate prophecies into the night to sulking in a stone-cold vow of silence.

Shadow realized the silence should have worried him more, but then, he had never been one for chatter. If Sweeney wanted to spend the whole day pouting, or quietly plotting his twisted revenge, well, that suited Shadow just fine.

He did wonder though, just how the hell someone like Sweeney ever came to work for a man like Wednesday. Sure, they were both vile in their own way. But the way it showed couldn’t be more different. Wednesday’s was subtle and sophisticated - disguised under so much sweetness and flattery, whereas Sweeney’s was blunt and rampaging - a wildfire without direction or target, just so long as it destroyed something. Everything was surface level with him, his mood as loud and easy to read as a child’s.

 _I bet he’s shit at poker_ , came Laura’s voice.

Shadow had to agree.

The rain was pattering down heavy now, little droplets falling over Shadow’s forehead and into his eyes so he had to blink them away. The sky had turned a deep, charcoal gray while the asphalt was already soaked over.

A sign ahead showed that the next town was just over 120 miles away, with the one they’d just left being even further. Shadow sighed. His hands were already growing numb, exposed to the cold, wet wind around Sweeney’s waist. He considered how weird it would be to use the other man’s pockets.

Sweeney leaned the bike into a wide curve in the road, hunching his shoulders low. Shadow leaned with him, just enough to keep his balance without adding too much weight. As they rounded the corner, a logging truck emerged from the other direction, it’s headlights flickering through the trees.

By the time Shadow noticed the truck’s back end sliding, it was too late.

Sweeney tried to swerve around it, but the slick of the asphalt combined with their off-kilter weight made the bike jerk and topple completely, sending Shadow, Sweeney and the bike skidding down the highway, barely missing the tail of the truck as they slid along at 80 miles per hour. Shadow’s world was a blur of spinning sky and pavement and more sky as he rolled off the road and down into a rocky trench, his momentum finally halted as he landed in a well of mud and tangled weeds.

For a long and empty minute, Shadow just laid there.

He looked up at the canopy of trees and breathed deeply, his heartbeat hammering as water fell quietly onto his face.

 _This is your life now_ , he thought. _This shouldn’t even surprise you._

After another long minute, in which the shock began to subside into a deep, aching chill, Shadow collected himself enough to check that all his limbs were still working and accounted for. Despite the odds, his head seemed to be okay, besides the stinging where the asphalt had scraped his cheek. Shadow touched the area tenderly, finding blood on his fingers. His elbows and knees felt a similar bite, and when Shadow looked down he could also see a bloom of red mixing with the mud on his jeans. Nothing too serious.

With a great deal of difficulty and a few minor aches, Shadow lifted himself from the ground with a squelch, scrambling up the side of the ditch and scanning the road for Sweeney. After a moment, he saw him.

Shadow broke into a run.

Sweeney had also slid into the ditch, though he was further along and his form was still crumpled under the weight of the motorbike, it’s back wheeling jutting up into the air. One of Sweeney’s legs was still trapped underneath while the upper half of his body was twisted at an odd angle, his face hidden away from Shadow in the mud.

Shadow slid down the incline, his boots sloshing into the channel.

“Hey, Sweeney! _Sweeney!_ ”

Sweeney didn’t answer.

As fast and carefully as he could without moving him too much, Shadow pulled the bike up from the mud and the tangle of Sweeney’s legs. The whole side was torn to bits, a mangle of metal and leather and paint.

After pushing it aside, Shadow leant down and carefully turned Sweeney’s shoulder so he wasn’t face down in the water. Except, weren’t you not supposed to turn someone’s head if they’ve possibly broken their neck? _Fuck._ Okay. Too late. Shadow tried to breath as he peered down at Sweeney’s unconscious face. Where there’d been just a bruise before, Sweeney’s entire cheek now resembled the side of the bike, a gash of blood and deep skin tissue as wide as Shadow’s palm covered it now, the right side of his forehead scraped the same. From where he could see them in the mud, his knuckles were also marred a bright red.

Right. Okay.

Shadow cursed Wednesday for throwing away his cellphone. He peered over the ditch. Of course the fucking truck hadn’t stopped to take blame, and the road was unusually empty of cars. He swore there’d been traffic a few minutes ago.

_Still don’t believe in luck, m’boy?_

Shadow inhaled, and pushed the voice down.

He leant back down to Sweeney, checking his breathing to find that he was, thankfully, still managing that. He couldn’t move him any more without knowing the extent of the damage, and he couldn’t know the extent unless Sweeney was awake.

“Hey!” Shadow shouted in the man’s ear, resisting the urge to shake him. “ _Wake up_ you fucking idiot - that’s why you wear a _fucking helmet..._ _Fuck!_ ” Shadow stood again, desperately scanning the road and feeling entirely helpless, and a complete idiot for ever accepting Sweeney’s offer. Of course this was going to happen, _of course._ People like Sweeney were magnets for shitty circumstances, and Shadow should have listened to his gut when it told him to walk away.

 _Or maybe_ you’re _the magnet._

Shadow cursed the leprechaun in every colourful prison vernacular he’d learned, in every language and every sentiment. He cursed until, finally, he saw the man’s forehead crinkle. One eye slid slowly open, followed by the other, followed by a low, guttural moan.

“The _fuuuck,_ ” slurred Sweeney. His gaze was hazed and unfocused. Shadow knelt beside him, caught between wanting to help and wanting to punch him unconscious again. “Where’m…” Sweeney started, then just squinted up at Shadow.

“You drove us off the road,” explained Shadow. “The truck fishtailed.”

Sweeney just peered at Shadow, his face twisting with confusion, or maybe pain.

“Think you can stand?”

Sweeney coughed, then after a long moment. “Dunno.” He tried, groaning as he folded one knee at a time, twisting himself into a half-sitting position. He put a hand down to steady himself and crumpled immediately back into the mud.

“Awe _fuck! Fucking cunt, slag of a wench,_ ” he cursed, curling into himself and clutching his hand to his chest.

“Broken?” asked Shadow.

Sweeney just grunted.

“Need a hand up?”

“Fuck off.”

“Suit yourself.”

After a slow and arduous process, Sweeney managed to pull himself up out of the muck, proving that at least there was no discernable spinal damage. Or worse. He stumbled twice as the two of them crawled back up the trench, though Shadow said nothing of it.

“Bike’s fucked,” sighed Shadow. “We’ll have to wait for the next car.”

Sweeney didn’t answer, just stood there clutching his wrist and peering off down the road. He swayed slightly.

“You sure you’re okay?” Shadow inched closer.

Sweeney jerked suddenly, as if waking up. “M’fine. M’just…” He took such a long time finding the end of his sentence, Shadow wasn’t sure he would, until - “tired,” he finished. “I’m just-”

Then Sweeney threw up.

Shadow had just jumped back to avoid the spray when a blue pickup truck came barrelling down the highway. Shadow waved it down furiously, keeping an eye on Sweeney so he didn’t keel over.

After a quick explanation, a glance at Sweeney’s face, and another at the bike still buried in the ditch, the driver was more than insistent on giving them a ride. Sweeney slouched against the side of the truck, sitting with his head cradled in his hands, as Shadow and the other man - _Stanley, call me Stan -_ excavated the bike. They loaded it into the back of the truck, alongside a slew of power tools and farm equipment, then carefully loaded Sweeney into the passenger side.

His face had turned a sick, waxy white, making Shadow wonder if he’d missed any heavy bleeding areas. He did a quick search, patting down Sweeney’s arms and stomach and legs. Sweeney tried to push his hands away, mumbling curses under his breath, but he didn’t seem to have much strength for it. Shadow didn’t find any, but he suspected there was more going on than he could see.

“We need to get to a hospital,” said Shadow when he’d gotten in through the driver’s door, squished between Sweeney’s bulk and Stan’s bony legs. “ _Now,_ ” he added, as Sweeney slumped into the window with a soft thud.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sweeney, the guy just can't catch a break :( Though Shadow's not far behind in the shitty luck squad. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed the latest chapter! A bit shorter than last. Hopefully updates will come a little faster now, but I've been balancing more work than usual so it's a day-by-day basis. Comments fill me with happiness and fuel my soul, if you feel the urge! :) :) :)


End file.
